Excerpt: Dreamer (working title)

Cale knew, as all men in Chaldia knew, that Dreamers deserved nothing short of death. Dreams were a profanity to Azra, a muddling of the mind, a disturbance of the sleep that the gods granted each human. It was blasemphy, pure and simple.
So when Cale awoke for the third time that night, the images still pulsing in his head, so real and near and terrifying that he could taste them on his tongue, he had to choke back a sob.
Night clung to the cedar rafters of his house, damp with distant ocean mist, swirling with the invisible demons that tortured him now. Cale lay on his side on his pallet, clutching his wool blanket around his shoulders. The phantom screams still lingered in his head, the sight of her wide gray eyes staring at him, begging him. He hadn’t seen her in three years, but her image pressed against his head, sharper than memory could be. She hadn’t stopped screaming the entire dream, and then all had been engulfed in blood.
Cale feared nothing in the physical world: he was used to defending his flock of goats against everything from bandits to small herds of dragons. His shoulders were broad, his back strong, his skill with a sling and spear unmatched. But how could he fight something he could not see, something that came upon him in the night when his soul was laid bare to the whims of the gods? It didn’t seem fair.
Help me, Cale! The voice throbbed in his memory, sending shivers through his body. Brother, help me! Help!
Cale lay, silent and shivering, in the humid darkness for a long time.